Dean wriggles in closer to Derek, holding onto him as he must have done with his stuffed bear when he was four. Noah laughs, and Dean does, too, even if he doesn't know why, rubbing his cheek methodically against Derek's fur.

"Good fur," he repeats, and wishes again that he could feel more of it. Reaching down, Dean yanks at the hem of his shirt. He gets it up as high as his belly, and Derek's fur feels nice there, so he drags it higher, but something goes wrong when the shirt is halfway over his head.

"No," Dean groans faintly, letting his arms fall to wrap back around Derek. "Cas, help."